Inferno

          At the ages of ten and twelve, our features became more defined. Every time we began walking down to the docks, an elderly woman would be sitting outside her door watching the sun climb through the sky. Adam would approach her and ask her opinion on how we looked. He did this because the woman knew our mother. She would smile and talk about how our hair was black as coal, just like our mother’s when she walked in the sunlight. Adam kept his hair short, but I grew mine out and let it hang down my shoulders. The woman continued, and spoke about other townsfolk believing we carried storms within us whenever they looked into our eyes, a swirl of grey and deep blue staring back at them. It was a trait our mother had, scaring men and women alike because she was strong like an ocean storm. She went on, commenting on how big and handsome we had become. Truthfully, it was harder at night for us to sleep because we had outgrown our beds, so Adam and I slept on the floors of our rooms, laying scraps of linen and wool to keep comfortable and warm. 

          Then she mentioned clothing, and that was when the concern could be heard in her voice. We were wearing Eric’s old clothing, scraps of ratty things he had never taken with him. There were gashes in the pants and stains caused by unknown substances on the shirts. Adam and I hid it as best we could, but our lack of wealth was evident.

          In his fragmented memories of our mother, Adam said she had been kind and caring, things our father no longer was. She would hold him whenever he had a nightmare, and hushed him back to sleep with her melodic singing voice. He described her as an island surrounded by a sea of dangerous waters, the only piece of heaven in a world of deadly sinners. Without her, the world was a darker place and we used stories about the ocean to keep us afloat.

          Hittisleigh had a small library filled with sea maps and chartered paths for merchant ships that had sunk long ago. When not at the docks, our heads were buried in books about famous sailors, ancient treasures lost to the ocean, and the lost city of Atlantis somewhere deep below the water’s surface, the city condemned to remain there for eternity. Books were read and then reread, each word almost memorized before moving to the next on the bank of pages within the leather bindings. Our imaginations got lost in those stories, hardening us into explorers of the sea.

          Adam and I never payed much attention to the time or even the days, so much so that we were soon 15 and 17 years of age. We spent so much of our days at the docks, merchants began to ask us for services. We’d earn some loose coins here and there helping the older gentlemen by stacking crates, or aid the women by convincing passersby to stop and take a look at the linen they had to offer. Adam was definitely the social one between the two of us. Young ladies that were walking always stopped to ask him directions or questions about the goods. Sometimes they just stopped to hear him talk and giggle at all his jokes. Then there was one girl that stood out among all the rest. 

          Adam noticed her while lifting a crate of goods for one of the merchants, his expression turning from focus to utter bafflement. She wore a pale yellow dress, it’s waist tight around hers before launching out like the curve of the sun overhead. Small curls of copper hair poking out from under a small pale yellow hat, the bridge of her nose was littered with freckles, and her eyes shone like emeralds. It was the first time I saw Adam speechless while gawking at a girl. She stared right back at him while approaching, until finally they were a few feet away from each other with nothing between them except the crate in Adam’s arms. For a moment they just looked at each other, her an elegant young lady and Adam covered in sweat and dirt from all the work he’d done. Then, as if in a silent agreement, they both sighed quietly. It was as if they were two stones surrounded by a flowing river of people. The first to speak was the girl.

          “My name is Evelyn,” her mouth moved slowly, the words dripping from her lips like the sweetest honey. “Evelyn Mcnaugt.”

          It was obvious Adam was smitten because of how he stammered over his words. “Bellamy. Uhh, Adam Bellamy. That’s my name.” His usual sly grin had been replaced with beat red cheeks and a smile travelling from ear to ear. I looked in astonishment as she looked at him, her eyes trailing for a second to his forearms, the muscles flexing as he held the crate of goods. Adam’s grin had found it’s way onto Evelyn’s lips, the same glint of mischief in her eyes.

          “It suits you, Adam.”

          Once the initial shock had worn off, Adam wouldn’t stop talking with Evelyn. They walked against the crowd towards one of the ships, then climbed a plank up to the deck where they were greeted by an older gentleman. Adam and this man shook hands, then disappeared from my vision. With work to get done, I got back to the task at hand of moving and organizing crates.

          The skip in his step was so loud, it could be heard from across the country. “Evelyn is stunning,” he said as we walked home that night, obviously still in a trance from this red haired damsel.

          “Sea spirit stole your soul, huh?” I asked him, my steps faster than his only because of his distracted mind. Adam was staring back at the docks, clearly missing his new found love. We were at the base of our property when I turned completely to face my brother as he reached me slowly.

          His voice was wistful and cheery, but a seriousness still riddled its base. “I’m gonna marry that girl,” he quietly spoke at first, then louder for anyone who was willing to listen. “I’m gonna marry her!” Unfortunately, the one person that did listen did not enjoy the news.

          Before we even took a step closer to our house, the door had slammed open and our father came stumbling towards us. His drunken anger and confusion was easily seen, but that didn’t stop our father from speaking his mind. “Love is fruitless boy, stay away from it,” his crackled speech was weak and gargled, a clear attempt at showing who was in charge but with no success. Adam’s joy turned sour, a surge of rage for everything him and I have put up with finally bursting out. He ran up to our father and pushed him back towards the house.

          “My life is my own, you can not control it!” His screams echoed through the town, some figures beginning to emerge into the moonlight.

          “Then leave like Eric did, I don’t want you here,” our father shouted back, then turned to the house and slithered once more into the dark interior of hell. The damage had been done, and Adam began to walk towards the docks once more. His steps were quickened by anger, frustration booming off of him like thunder through the clouds. My mind raced for ways to get him to calm down, but Adam was a cannon waiting for someone to fire at. He didn’t speak a word, just kept walking like his life depended on it. In a way, it had.

          We noticed the smoke once it blocked the light of the moon, a faint glow of orange cresting over the peaks of houses. The smell halted us in our tracks, but the screaming sent us sprinting towards the light. When we came around a corner, the sounds grew a thousandfold. The heat was almost unbearable, and the home was engulfed in flames. A dozen people stood outside the home, wondering if anyone was inside. My brother didn’t hesitate. He darted across the cobble street and passed the onlookers, then was lost in the flames as he entered the front door. I watched in fear for my brother to come back out safely for what felt like years, and then I saw him.

          He was carrying a little girl, no more than eight years old, out of the house with his shirt wrapped around her to stop the flames from licking her young skin. My instincts kicked in as well, and began to order the bystanders to fetch water and cloth, do anything to help save lives and stop the blaze. Adam emerged once more, this time with the elderly woman we always talked to on our way to the docks. He had her on his back, her coughs a racket but nonetheless thankful to be alive. Before I could protest, Adam was running back into the home with flames lunging at his clothes and face. I waited for his silhouette once more, but then the sea of fire started to intensify. It was as if the old lady and little girl were supposed to be its fuel, and was furious that Adam had stolen them away. So the flames took a new sacrifice, and began to break the supports of the house. Ash shot into the sky as beams of wood came crashing down. I stared and waited and hoped, but I never saw my brother again. The fire consumed him, and wouldn’t give him back. He was lost in an inferno, the orange fire climbing high into the sky.